


Dueling Handjos

by sheepishwolfy



Series: DBH one-shots [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Couch Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Fixation, Rivals to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepishwolfy/pseuds/sheepishwolfy
Summary: Connor and Gavin keep kissing each other, but it probably doesn't mean anything.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Series: DBH one-shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1402759
Comments: 26
Kudos: 207





	Dueling Handjos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chibbers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibbers/gifts).



> this has been sitting in my drafts for months, and i finally finished it for the delightful [Chibbers'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibbers/) birthday, which was [redacted] weeks ago. she asked for soft handjobs, i did my best to deliver. I HOPE YOU LOVE IT BBY

The first time they kissed was outside the Boot’n’Rally at midnight. Gavin stumbled out onto the street for a cigarette, and to get away from the ear-bleedingly terrible bluegrass music. Why the DPD had chosen an off-brand Nashville themed dive bar for all after-hours binge drinking, he had no idea. Probably because it was the closest to central booking, and offered $2 pitchers after six.

Whatever the reason, he kind of hated it. Even if he did have his picture on the wall behind the bar for eating fifty hush puppies in less than ten minutes. That wasn’t exactly an accomplishment. You could do anything with enough two-dollar Corona in your system.

Someone else was out in the November cold, standing on the curb in a long black coat. Waiting for a taxi, maybe. An android, by the dim blue glow over their right ear.

Connor, in particular, by the rail-straight posture and the narrow shoulders. 

“Hey, robocop!” Gavin called, brightly. He was more than a little drunk.

The neutral look on Connor’s face softened as he turned, found a clearly inebriated Reed shuffling across the snow-damp sidewalk. “The man of the hour,” he said, with a slight incline of his head. 

Gavin came to an unsteady stop at the curb, patted his various coat pockets. From one he drew a half-empty box of cigarettes, and from the other—nothing. A quick search of his jeans was equally fruitless. “Ah… shit.”

Having silently watched the entire process, Connor reached into the inner lining of his own coat and produced a lighter. Neon green, it was one of those cheap gas station jobs. 

“Here.” He extended his arm, but didn’t hand it over. Instead he lit it—in one try, where it would have taken Gavin at least three. 

Fuckin’ androids.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, Gavin leaned into the little flame, hands cupped against the chill wind. A few puffs to light it, and Gavin watched Connor stash the lighter back in the woolen depths of his coat. 

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Gavin said. He angled his face away from Connor, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. Androids probably didn’t need to worry about second hand smoke, but it never hurt to be polite.

“I thought about just going home after work,” Connor admitted, folding his hands at the small of his back. “It’s not as though I can eat or drink. Hank has informed me, however—" here, the android squared his shoulders and affected a deeper, rougher voice—“‘It’s not about the all-you-can-eat mini corndogs, it’s about making some fuckin’ friends.’”

In his normal tone again, Connor said, “Apparently I don’t do enough to ‘bond with my fellow officer.’”

Gavin huffed a laugh. “Well, he’s not wrong. Where is the old man, anyway?”

“At home. Six months sober.”

“Oh.” Another long drag. “Good for him.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, softly. Fondly. Then, “This evening has been incredibly informative. Did you know beer could be measured in yards?”

Gavin snorted. He had a solid three yards of cheap draft in him right then. “So I’ve heard.”

They stood in silence, looking in opposite directions down the empty street. Gavin was too drunk to figure out if he should feel uncomfortable or not. A year ago they’d done their level best to kill each other, and now they stood in the snow and made only mildly awkward small talk. Weird, how time could do that. 

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you inside, but congratulations,” Connor said, rather suddenly. “On closing this case, I mean.”

“Oh, uh,” Gavin replied eloquently. “Thanks. I couldn’t have managed it without you, though, honestly.”

The android blinked, surprised. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Nah, it is,” Gavin insisted. Whether it was alcohol or residual guilt, he couldn’t be sure, but suddenly the words were pouring out of him between pulls on his cigarette. “You’re so—fuckin’—good at this. I never would have made the, the connection you did. The stolen car? The cabin in the woods? It was… that’s Unabomber shit, not basic gang killing. It takes whole fuckin’ teams of behaviorists to make those kinds of connections and you just walked in and did it.”

Connor ducked his head, poorly concealing a prideful smile as he shook his head. “Thank you, but—” 

A groan like a teenager asked to take out the garbage burst through Gavin's lips. “Will you just take the goddamn compliment? If you hadn’t helped me I’d still be sitting at my desk and ripping my hair out. So, you know… thank you, or whatever.”

“You’re welcome, or whatever,” Connor said, with a soft laugh. He glanced sidelong at his colleague. “I disagree, though. You would’ve figured it out. You’re smarter than most, you don’t need me.”

“I know,” Gavin scoffed, to hide the odd swell of… something, in his chest. Probably heartburn, he was damn near 40 and too old to drink like this. He needed to change the subject. “What are you doing with a lighter, anyway? You’re an android. It’s not like you, y’know.” He waved his cigarette in a little circle. 

“Suspects often smoke,” Connor said, shrugging. “Having a lighter on hand can ingratiate me to someone I’m interrogating. It fosters a sense of trust.”

“Now that’s smart.”

“It’s manipulative at best.”

“Everything about witness interrogation is manipulative,” Gavin laughed. “At least your manipulation involves basic human kindness.”

“Basic android kindness,” Connor said, smirking.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

An automated taxi arrived, dome lights flickering on within as it rolled to a stop before them. A disembodied voice engineered to be pleasant and non-threatening said, “Connor RK800, your transportation has arrived.”

Connor turned. “Congratulations again,” he said, extending a hand, ostensibly for a shake. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Gavin glanced down at the offered hand, the well-manicured nails, the long fingers. They’d never touched, outside of once beating the living shit out of each other. Well, Connor beating the living shit out of Gavin. Which he deserved, at the time. He could admit that, even if Connor was a smug douche.

He wasn’t a smug douche. He was clever and he was kind and he was wickedly funny. He just didn’t take shit from anyone.

They’d never even touched, but now Gavin was leaning past Connor’s outstreched arm and kissing him. Quickly, messily, a sudden press of lips and a little too much tooth. The android made a surprised sound, but didn’t shove him away. 

Maybe Gavin was drunk, but he thought Connor leaned into it. Kissed him back. Just for a moment.

Then Connor’s hands were on his shoulders, gently settling him back onto his heels—fucker was so tall Gavin needed to lift onto his toes to reach. But he didn’t lean away, or let go just yet. 

“Good night, Detective,” Connor murmured, with an odd little smile.

Then he got into his cab and left, and they never talked about it. They carried on their (now somewhat friendlier) rivalry and that was it. Whatever brief lapse in judgment Gavin had experienced that night, he could blame on being drunk. 

However the second time they kissed, a few months later, he was stone cold sober. It was broad daylight. He had no convenient excuses. Not that he wanted or needed any excuses, it was just… surprising. 

* * *

Spring, or at least close to. The early, ugly part of the season. Stubborn snow still clung in the gutters, slushy grey remnants of the huge piles plowed over the long winter. Grass was visible in the medians, sad and damp and yellow. Everything was wet. Despite his best efforts, Gavin’s dress shoes were mud-splattered and dull. 

Doubly so, now that he was trekking back across the unpaved parking lot, because he left his goddamn hat in the goddamn trunk of the goddamn car. And he needed the goddamn hat to stand on the goddamn stage and watch goddamn rookies get their goddamn diplomas. None of which mattered, because he couldn’t goddamn remember where he’d parked his goddamn car.

God _dammit_.

Fumbling his keys from his pocket, Gavin jabbed the unlock button on the fob. He then proceeded to let out another string of expletives as his car honked cheerfully several rows over. Sighing, he gave up attempting to avoid the watery potholes, and broke into a half-assed jog between the assembled squad cars.

“I’ll park closer to the exit so I don’t get stuck in traffic on the way out,” he grumbled as he stalked up to his ancient hatchback. He continued to mumble unkindly to himself as he popped the trunk and ducked inside, barely registering that the car next to his beeped and unlocked.

“Lose something, Detective?”

“My fucking hat,” Gavin said. Standing, he narrowly avoided slamming the top of his head on the underside of the hatch. Still hatless, he shut the trunk and turned around.

Connor had appeared, materializing out of thin fucking air at inconvenient times as he always did. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, somehow managing to look even taller in dress blues. His narrow frame was uniquely suited to the long lines and silver details of the uniform. Gavin noted, with intense irritation, that Connor’s shoes still gleamed despite their muddy surroundings, because of _course_ they did.

“Fuck’re you doing out here?” Gavin asked, after giving Connor an unsubtle once-over. He started around the passenger side of his car. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing… something for the first graduating androids?”

“I am,” Connor said, following a few steps behind. “Or—I was. A boater found a body by the docks, so I’m meeting Chen there.”

“Lucky,” Gavin muttered, yanking open the door with more force than was strictly necessary. Then paused, considered, glanced back and said, “Well, not the body. Or the boater, I guess.”

Maybe the body—at least a harbor corpse didn’t have to sit through any long winded speeches. 

“All things considered, I’d rather stay here,” Connor said. He leaned against the wheel well of the sleek black car in the next stall. “Just have a nice, predictable day. Maybe go home early.”

“When have you ever gone home early?” The question was muffled by Gavin crawling halfway into the back seat of the car. He couldn’t see that Connor hesitated to reply because he was staring, head cocked, at Gavin’s ass.

“It’s… happened, before,” Connor said, belatedly. He looked up and away, towards the river, the city skyline beyond. “Once or twice.”

“Sure it—fuck’s sake, there you are, you little bitch.” Half under the driver’s side seat, Gavin found his hat. He stretched out to reach it, and felt his shins connect with the wet lower edge of the doorframe. Another muttered curse as the melted snow seeped into his pant legs. At least the fabric was dark.

He shimmied backwards, again unaware of Connor’s distracted gaze. Free of the back seat, he crammed the wayward hat on his head and turned to frown at the android.

“There a reason you’re still hassling me, when you got a crime scene to go lick?” Gavin asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to tilt his chin up to see Connor’s face past the brim of his hat, which did nothing to improve Gavin’s mood. String-bean mother fucker.

“You’re blocking my door,” Connor said, gesturing casually to the right. There was a gap of about four inches between Gavin’s open car door and the next vehicle, and narrow though he was Connor could not squeeze through. 

When he’d parked next to the gleaming black sports car, Gavin assumed it belonged to some rich politician’s kid. Or a CyberLife exec, here to take credit for the first class of androids with enough free will to become police by choice rather than programming. Those smarmy assholes were doing everything in their power to spin deviancy as somehow positive, now that their efforts to crush the growing android rights movement had failed in earnest. They were trying to keep their rapidly folding company afloat, and largely failing. 

It was a lot to assume about someone just from an expensive car, but Gavin was a detective. It was his job to extrapolate identities from the smallest possible amount of information. Usually he was right.

Today he was extremely wrong.

 _"That’s_ what you drive?” There was a cracked note of shock in Gavin’s voice that he honestly did not care for. “Why haven’t I ever seen it in the lot?”

“My apartment is a little less than two blocks from the station. I prefer to walk to work, and in the event I’m called to a scene I usually ride with Lt. Anderson.” Connor tapped a few fingers thoughtfully against the shiny black paneling of the car. Holding his hand to the side of his mouth, he spoke in a conspiratorial stage whisper. “And I’m only leasing it.” 

Gavin’s laugh was sudden and loud, a sharp bark of pure amusement. “You’re leasing a ninety-thousand dollar sports car? I thought androids were supposed to be smart.”

“I’m 18 months old,” Connor said, with a half-hearted shrug. “I had no credit score.”

Gavin snorted another ugly laugh. “You know most people just start with a beater and work their up.” 

“I am far too expensive to drive a beater,” Connor sniffed, literally turning his nose up. “Besides, I only really drive it on weekends.”

“Why buy a car at all, then?” Gavin asked. He leaned back against his own vehicle, arm draped over the still open door. “Just take taxis.”

“Taxis won’t do 110 on back streets at 2 AM,” Connor said slyly. At Gavin’s pleasantly dumbfounded expression, Connor winked.

“You never cease to fuckin’ amaze,” Gavin laughed.

“I try,” Connor shrugged. Gesturing at Gavin’s still-open door, he said, “I do still need to get through.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Stepping aside, Gavin used his elbow to slam the door of his own car, wincing as the hinges squealed. He really needed a new car—or at least a gallon drum of WD40. 

“You need to lubricate your hinges,” Connor said. He straightened away from the side of his car, putting himself well within Gavin’s personal bubble.

 _You_ need to lubricate your fucking hinges,” Gavin muttered. 

“I had routine maintenance last week,” Connor replied. He leaned a little closer. “I assure you I am thoroughly lubricated.”

“Yeah I bet you are,” Gavin said, rolling his eyes.

A startled, but not displeased, noise caught in Gavin’s throat when Connor kissed him. The full weight of Connor’s body pressed Gavin against the side of his car, fine-boned fingers cradling his stubbled jaw. After a stunned moment, Gavin’s eyes slipped closed, hands settling at Connor’s waist.

This kiss was smoother than the first, softer. Less toothy. Lingering. Gavin tilted his head up, felt his hat slide backwards and tumble away. He tried to catch it against the back of his neck, but didn’t want to break the kiss, didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to step away even for a second—

With a wet splash, the hat fell straight into a puddle. Top-down, like buttered toast. Muddy water immediately soaked into the wool and splattered the shiny vinyl brim. 

Their foreheads still pressed together, both Connor and Gavin glanced down at the sodden hat.

Moment ruined.

“Fuck,” Gavin hissed, but didn’t let go of Connor’s waist.

“Sorry,” Connor murmured, grimacing. He stepped away, retreating back across the short distance. “That’s... probably my fault.”

" _Probably_ ,” Gavin said, flat. Bending down to pick it up, Gavin held the hat away from himself, brim pinched between thumb and forefinger. A few irritated shakes did nothing, other than fling more muddy droplets around.

“Take mine,” Connor said, plucking his own hat off his head. 

Still holding the hat away from himself, Gavin looked incredulously at Connor’s outstretched hand. “And what are you going to do?” 

“The floater won’t care if I’ve got my cover or not,” Connor shrugged. He jiggled the cap, lifted his eyebrows. “Well? I suppose it would be rather in character for you to stand on stage with mud dripping down the back of your neck.”

Gavin snorted. “You’re such a dick,” he said, snatching the hat from Connor’s hand. A snug fit when he put it on, but it would get him through the afternoon.

“I’ll have yours dry cleaned,” Connor said, pointing at Gavin’s still-awkwardly-extended arm. 

“Uh, thanks,” Gavin murmured, handing it over. 

Connor gave the wet hat a few more sharp flicks, then opened his car door and tossed it inside. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Detective Reed.”

“Good luck with your lake stiff,” Gavin said. 

One foot inside the car, Connor hesitated a moment, like he wanted to say something more. Like he might acknowledge what just happened between them, again. Or like he might lean over for another kiss.

“I’ll see you at the station,” he said, instead, and then folded himself into the low front seat of the car.

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured, hoarse. He stood there in his borrowed hat as Connor’s hideously expensive car roared to life. The fucking android didn’t even look in Gavin’s direction as he backed out of the stall. Peeling out of the parking lot, he almost certainly broke the speed limit in the process.

“What the fuck,” Gavin muttered, staring across the parking lot. “What the _fuck_?”

Three days later, after a long weekend, Gavin returned to work to find his hat on his desk, still in the plastic dry cleaning bag. No note, no receipt, no acknowledgment from Connor of any kind. Gavin waited til the end of the day, when no one was around, to leave the android’s own hat in an empty desk drawer.

Once again, they carried on like nothing happened. Once again, their enmity cooled. A handful of cordial chats in the breakroom, an openness in sharing information related to their investigations. Friendly, but not friends. Certainly not more.

Except for the fact that they kept kissing. Not with any kind of frequency or regularity—it was just a thing that seemed to happen occasionally. Once in the evidence lockers. Once in the actual lockers. In an empty interview room, and behind the squad garage, and in the break room at 2am during an overnight shift.

It never progressed beyond kissing—until it did, in the summer.

* * *

Somehow, Gavin was leaving work on time. Every one of his active cases was at a natural stopping point, waiting for paperwork to be processed, or for information from other sources. At 5:30 to the minute, he stood, shuffled his keys and wallet into his pockets, put on his sunglasses. He couldn’t remember the last time he left this early on purpose—he was absolutely going to the gym. He had a cut coming up, his trainer was on his ass to do more cardio. And now he had the time.

Gavin made it all of three steps away from his desk before Fowler stuck his head out of the fishbowl.

“Reed, I need a favor, please,” the captain called.

“Come on, man, I’m clocked out,” Gavin said, turning around. “I’m actually going home while the sun’s up.”

“It’ll take you fifteen minutes,” Jeffrey replied. He held out a file folder, jiggling it like he was dangling a string for a cat. “I need you to run something to Connor. He needs to sign this.”

Rubbing at his eyes beneath his sunglasses, Gavin sighed. “Alright, okay,” he said. Crossing the bullpen, he took the folder from Fowler’s hand. Flipping it open, he saw it was an official deposition. “Where's he at, upstairs? Can you just call him down here?”

“No, he’s not here,” Jeffrey replied. “He’s at home. I need you to run it to his house.”

Gavin dipped his chin to level a flat look over the rim of his glasses. “Really? Can’t he sign it in the morning?”

“He’s off the next few days, and I couldn’t get him on the phone. But I need this signed ASAP,” Fowler said, reaching out to tap the file. “800 was supposed to stop by sometime today, I think he forgot. Do this for me and I’ll let you leave at noon tomorrow. Get a head start on the weekend.”

Pursing his lips, Gavin tapped the folder against his open palm a few times. Connor had said he only lived two blocks away, it would be a twenty minute round trip, tops. There was really nothing to think about, of fucking course he’d take the extra half day off.

“Alright,” Gavin said, finally, after a show of considering. “But only because you asked nicely.”

Fowler rolled his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Cap,” Gavin replied, already turning away. If he started walking now, he could be back before 6.

About halfway there, he realized his mistake. It was high summer in the Midwest, and even a ten minute walk was like wading through waist-deep water. Should’ve just driven, dealt with the hassle of street parking, and saved himself a lot of sweating. Should’ve, at the very least, left his mother fucking leather jacket at his desk. No one had ever accused Gavin Reed of having the common sense God gave a particularly stupid rock, though. 

By the time he reached Connor’s street, he felt like he was breathing through a wet rag, sweat sticking his shirt to his spine. Christ, he hoped Connor was home. He hoped Connor had air conditioning. He hoped he didn’t look as red and filmy as he felt.

Not, of course, that he much cared what Connor thought about his looks.

Someone was standing on the stoop of Connor’s building when Gavin turned the corner. A tall man, facing away, with disheveled dark hair and a faded aloha shirt. He appeared to be smoking and talking on the phone, flicking ash onto the sidewalk and nodding along to whatever was being said at the other end of the line.

The man barked a laugh as Gavin drew closer. A carefree sound, easy and loud, shoulders rising and falling with the cadence of it. Vaguely familiar.

“You’re fucking kidding,” the man said, through another chuckle, and it was more than _vaguely_ familiar. 

It was Connor.

“I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face,” Connor said, lifting the cigarette back to his mouth.

“You smoke?” Gavin interjected. Real chill.

The android whipped around, shock drawing his features tight. His LED, now visible, flickered yellow-red. “North?” he said into the phone, expelling a plume of smoke. “I’ll call you back.”

A tinny protest through the earpiece. 

“No, it’s nothing. Love you too, bye.”

Lowering the phone, Connor took another, long drag on his cigarette. Suspicion was evident in the now-taut line of his shoulders, the narrowing of his eyes. “Why are you at my house?” 

“Fowler sent me,” Gavin replied. Eyes still firmly locked on the lit cigarette, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew the folded deposition. “Does that even do anything for you?”

“Ah, shit,” Connor muttered, stepping down off the stoop towards Gavin. Perching the cigarette in one corner of his lips, he took the offered papers and unfolded them. “I meant to run by the station earlier.”

“So I heard,” Gavin murmured, absently. “Okay, but seriously, is this why you had a lighter that one time? Because _you_ use it?”

“Don’t suppose you have a pen on you,” Connor said. His eyes flicked over Gavin’s jacket, clearly scanning. “No, of course you don’t.”

“Just gonna completely ignore all my questions, huh?” Gavin replied. “And don’t scan me, you fuckin’ weirdo. I could’ve just told you I don’t have a pen, because I wasn’t expecting to find you outside smoking.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this,” Connor said, emphasizing the point with another thin stream of smoke. He removed the mostly-done cigarette from his mouth, stubbed it out on the low stone wall. Without even looking, he flicked the butt towards the standing ashtray outside the lobby entrance. Of course it landed right on target. A perfect arc, directly into the opening without touching the sides. Swish.

“Are you not also a smoker, Detective?”

“Okay, but, I’m a human full of shitty ass habits and a lizard brain that demands instant gratification,” Gavin replied, frowning. “You’re an android who, as far as I know, doesn’t even have lungs. What use is nicotine to you?”

“It’s not the nicotine,” Connor said evenly. He turned and started up the few steps to the door. “Wait here, I’ll run up and sign this.”

“Any chance I could just come in for a minute?” Gavin asked.

Connor hesitated. “...Why?”

“Because it’s August, it’s ten thousand degrees out here, and I just fucking walked my happy ass over to save you the goddamn trip.” 

Sweeping his gaze over Gavin’s overheating frame, Connor sighed. “Alright. I suppose that would be fine.”

“Thank fucking God,” Gavin sighed, jogging up the steps after Connor. 

The lobby was ugly as sin, but blessedly cool. Watercolor-pastel wallpaper, enormous faux monstera flanking the front desk, and soft sconce lighting suggested the place hadn’t been redecorated in at least 50 years. His mother’s 1992 prom photos could’ve been taken in this exact hideous lobby.

“Did this used to be a hotel?” Gavin asked, as they waited near the elevator.

“I believe so,” Connor replied primly. “Convenient to convert to android apartments. We don’t need kitchens.”

The elevator softly chimed it’s arrival. Connor stepped aboard, selected the 24th floor, and stood near the button panel with his hands folded at the small of his back. It was ridiculous, his perfect android posture coupled with his unprofessional home clothes. Between the vintage garishness of his shirt and the faint scent of menthols clinging to him, Home Connor actually looked like the sort of person to lease a $90,000 sports car and impulsively kiss his colleagues.

Gavin, maybe, kind of liked this Connor. More than he already liked stiff, professional Work Connor.

A silent ride brought them to Connor’s floor, a short walk to his front door. Connor dug a set of keys from his pocket, jangling from a ring that included a keychain shaped like a fish. He sure did have a tropical aesthetic.

“I apologize for being a poor host,” Connor said, breezing through his living room. He tossed the keys into a small dish on a low bookshelf, along with his wallet, lighter, and half-empty pack of cigarettes. “I wasn’t expecting human company, I don’t have much in the way of food or drink to offer you.”

“You’re good,” Gavin said. He hovered near the door, watching Connor putter through his apartment. “Not exactly planning on staying, yeah?”

“I suppose you’re correct,” Connor replied.

This apartment was absolutely a repurposed hotel suite. No kitchen, as Connor mentioned. Just a mini fridge, a single counter and a cabinet in one corner. A bathroom with the shower and toilet separated from the double sinks. Fancy enough to have separate living and sleeping areas though. Gavin glimpsed the edge of a bed through a short hallway past the bathroom.

In keeping with his apparent off-duty Tropic-core vibe, the place was covered in broad-leafed plants. A large fish tank dominated the far wall, flanked by tall, loaded bookshelves. While Connor hunted for a pen, Gavin wandered in the direction of the tank.

It was planted, thick with leafy greens. Colorful freshwater fish darted amongst the foliage. Gavin couldn’t name a single one of them—his knowledge was strictly relegated to ice fishing on the great lakes—but they were pretty. A fat snail crawled up the inside of the glass as he watched.

“All signed.”

Gavin startled to hear Connor’s voice so close. The android had appeared at Gavin’s elbow, now-signed deposition in hand. 

“Fuck, do you do this shit on purpose? I’m gonna buy you some of those squeaky toddler shoes,” Gavin said, taking the folded forms. “Stop you creeping around everywhere like a goddamned ghost.”

“I admit there’s a certain... perverse joy to startling humans,” Connor said, smiling slyly aside at Gavin. 

“God, you’re weird,” Gavin said, with a huff of a laugh. It was probably time to leave, let Connor get back to his... Connor things. He wasn’t too eager to go back out into the heat, though. “Okay, man, for real. What’s with the cigarettes? If it’s not the nicotine—”

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?” Connor sighed. 

Gavin shrugged. “I’ve just never seen an android so much as vape, let alone suck down unfiltered menthols.”

“Menthols happened to be on sale last week. They aren’t my favorite.” Connor went to seat himself at the end of the worn sofa opposite the tank.

“Do you have a favorite?” Gavin asked.

“Not particularly,” Connor shrugged. “As I said, it’s not really... It’s more about the action, than anything.”

“What, because it looks cool?” 

“No, no.” Connor waved a hand, physically dismissing the absurdity of that statement. “It’s... hm. Would you care to sit, Detective? I fear this may take a few minutes to properly explain—if I can at all. I’m not sure.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was like an existential deal for you,” Gavin said, shouldering out of his jacket. Draping it over the arm of the couch, he sat himself down opposite Connor.

“I wouldn’t say existential,” Connor said. He settled back into the cushions, crossing one long leg over the other. “It’s mostly physical. I am equipped with extremely sophisticated chemical analysis software. My tongue has approximately twenty-two thousand individual microsensors—that’s twice the number of tastebuds possessed by the average human.”

“Yeah, so you can lick corpses and shit at crime scenes,” Gavin said, nodding along. 

Connor frowned. “Something like that, yes,” he said, flat. “For the record I don’t lick evidence, I—”

“Relax, robocop, I’m fucking with you,” Gavin laughed. He slapped the back of his hand against Connor’s forearm where it rested across the back of the couch. “So, what, then, you just like doing chemical analysis all the time?”

“Sort of,” Connor said. “Forensic programs require a fairly substantial amount of my CPU’s power. Power that is, otherwise, dedicated to constant background processes—long-distance spacial awareness, minor pre- and reconstructions, hardware monitoring. Task prioritization. Social adaptation software. Live scanner feeds if I’m on call.” Tapping his LED, Connor said wanly, “There’s a lot going on up here.”

Blowing out a breath, Gavin nodded. “Yeah, sounds like. Damn. I feel like slamming my face on hot concrete if I just get a fuckin’ song stuck in my head for too long.”

“Honestly, it’s not so different from a human mind,” Connor said. “You just aren’t conscious of the part of your brain dedicated to breathing, or keeping your heart beating.”

“Well I am _now_ ,” Gavin muttered, acutely aware of his next inhale. “Starting to understand why you picked up smoking. Shit sounds stressful.”

“Not stressful so much as... taxing, after a while.” Shifting in his seat, Connor uncrossed his legs, dropped one heel onto the coffee table. Relaxing.

He was _relaxing_ , and Gavin was fucking fascinated. Robot never had anything less than flawless posture.

“Basically, if I activate my oral cataloging software and give it something to analyze, it draws a respectable amount of power,” Connor said, tilting his head back to rest on the cushions. “It quiets the noise, so to speak. Smoking happens to be a convenient way to do so—and requires much less cleanup afterwards, unlike eating a handful of ruffle chips.”

Gavin snorted. “That’s extremely specific.”

With a lazy, one shouldered shrug, Connor replied, “I just like the texture.”

“I didn’t know you could eat.”

“I can’t, really. If I consume any foreign material, I need to empty out my extremely limited internal storage compartments soon after,” Connor explained. Wrinkling his nose, he continued, “It’s a complicated and messy process. I reserve it for days when my mind is particularly turbulent.”

“You’re an emotional eater, is what you’re saying,” Gavin said, adjusting in his seat to fold one leg under himself. He leaned his head on his fist, elbow on the back cushions. “I feel that.”

“I suppose so, yes.” Connor scrubbed a hand over his face, a deeply human mannerism that Gavin watched intently. “With the occasional cigarette, I just end up replacing the filters in my cooling systems slightly more often, which I find to be an acceptable trade-off for a few minutes of peace.”

“Wish it was that easy for us,” Gavin said. A loose thread protruded up from the seam of the couch cushion, and he plucked at it. A thought occurred to him, niggling and sharp. “So...”

“So?” Connor prompted, lolling his head to the side to eyeball Gavin.

A puckish smile curled Gavin’s lips. “So is that why you keep kissing me? Distracting data collection?”

Connor’s head snapped up, cheeks immediately and brilliantly flushing dusty blue. “You kissed me first,” he hissed, jabbing a finger at Gavin. 

“I was drunk!” Gavin exclaimed, grinning. 

“Only the first time,” Connor sniffed. Impeccable android disposition sliding back into place, he sat straight, hands folded neatly in his lap, feet planted firmly on the floor. “I was under the impression that you were an equal and willing participant, but if I am mistaken on that front I apologize.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Gavin said. He leaned fractionally closer, reached out to trace the tips of his fingers over the rigid muscle of Connor’s forearm. “It’s totally fine, if that’s all it is. Convenience. I’d just like to know if it’s something else.”

Connor looked down at Gavin’s hand now resting near his elbow, certain that his synthskin would be covered in goosebumps if it were possible. With only his eyes, Connor followed the line of Gavin’s arm to his face, then dropped his gaze again. To Gavin’s mouth, lips parted in a lurid, knowing smile.

His regulator stuttered.

“Something else?” Connor asked, strangled, failing to keep his voice remotely even. He tilted his chin a hair’s breadth in Gavin’s direction, not trusting himself to face the man.

Gavin pressed closer, close enough that Connor could feel his breathy little chuckle ghost across his shoulder. The fabric of Connor’s shirt was softer than Gavin expected as he slid his hand up over the android’s chest. His fingers came to rest curled around the back of Connor’s neck, thumb along his jawline. 

“Do you run around kissing everyone in the station?” He spoke barely above a whisper, gently tugging Connor closer, urging him to turn his head. “Or is it just me?”

“Just you,” Connor breathed, just before their lips met.

This was nothing like their previous encounters. Those were stolen in empty corners, surprising, over before they could really be acknowledged. Brief, by necessity. Chaste, by comparison, a mere brushing of lips and maybe tongue.

But this... Gavin’s hands were eager and clever, one cradling Connor’s face while the other found the hem of Connor’s shirt. Human skin was so much warmer than an android’s, Gavin’s palm searing hot against the dip of Connor’s waist. He didn’t even _do_ anything with it, just rested his hand there—and still Connor found himself moaning into Gavin’s mouth.

“Oh yeah?” Gavin murmured, grinning into another kiss. He peppered more along Connor’s jaw, mouthed at the column of his throat. That drew another, needier little noise from the android. 

Gavin loved it. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear it a hundred times.

“Doesn’t take much to get you all worked up, huh?” Again he brought his lips to Connor’s throat, this time with the barest hint of teeth.

“ _Gavin_ ,” Connor said, thready, fingers clutching at the front of the man’s shirt. “I—”

The words were silenced by another kiss, by Gavin hooking a thigh over Connor’s legs and settling into his lap. Gavin ground his hips down, his tongue teasing at the seam of Connor’s lips. He parted them, groaned when Gavin bit at his lower lip. 

For a long time they just kissed, a breathy tangle of lips and tongue and teeth, of hands under shirts and rocking hips. Lost to exploring each other, finally without the threat of being caught or the pull of other commitments. Gavin felt like a teenager making out on the sofa, without the usual urge to rush to bed. Kissing Connor was fun. He was so responsive, so earnest, so unlike any partner Gavin had had before.

But eventually he sat back on his heels, reluctantly tearing his mouth from Connor’s. He intended to ask—to _insist_ they move to the bedroom, but the entire English language fled his brain the instant he laid eyes on Connor.

Beautiful. Cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, pupils dilated so wide his irises were only a thin ring of honey brown. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his waist, exposing the flat planes of his chest, the dim blue glow of his regulator nestled neatly below his sternum. With curious fingers, Gavin traced the thin edge of the pump. Instantly Connor’s eyelids fluttered, head tipping back. His chest rose with ragged breath he didn’t need, arching up when Gavin repeated the motion.

Connor swallowed hard, fingers digging into Gavin’s hips. He stammered something, almost a word, mostly a gutteral moan. It sounded like a plea. And no wonder, with the hard line of his cock straining the seam of his jeans. He looked as turned on as Gavin felt.

Gavin skimmed his hand over Connor’s sternum, past his collarbones and throat. Rested his palm against Connor’s fevered cheek, slowly swept his thumb along the android’s kiss-bitten lower lip.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Gavin murmured. “We should—”

The words died on his lips, replaced by blinding arousal as Connor’s tongue darted out to lick along Gavin’s thumb. Slow and sensuous, pressed flat against the pad of it, slick with that oddly viscous android saliva.

His own mouth going dry, Gavin pressed his thumb forward, past Connor’s lips. The sound he made was fucking criminal, loud and completely obscene as every single one of those twenty-two thousand sensors lit up like fireworks. Gavin pulled his thumb back, thrust it forward again, and Connor _sucked_.

There was a sudden and very real risk that Gavin’s dick was just going to explode through his jeans in a cloud of denim and precome. 

Fuck going to the bed, or anywhere else. All of the blood in his body was currently concentrated in his groin, he wouldn’t be able to walk anyway. This was happening, and it was happening here, right now.

Still fucking Connor’s mouth with his thumb, Gavin fumbled at the fastenings of the android’s pants with his other hand. Somehow, through the haze of his own lust, he managed to open the snap, pull down the zipper. 

He wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Jesus,” Gavin groaned, as Connor’s cock sprung free of its confines. His dick was just as pretty and appealing as the rest of him, uncut, flushed at the tip and glistening. Gently curved. Gavin wanted it inside him, he didn’t care where—mouth, ass, Connor could stick it in his ear for all he fucking cared. He just _wanted_ so badly it almost hurt.

But he also had no desire to remove his fingers from Connor’s mouth. The android’s tongue was, shockingly enough, inhuman in its flexibility. The way he sucked Gavin’s thumb, flicking and rolling his tongue, it may as well have been his dick. 

Especially once he wrapped his hand around Connor’s length and stroked. 

The reaction was instant and gratifying. Another profane sound, muffled by Gavin’s hand. His cock twitched and throbbed in Gavin’s grip, his hips lifting off the cushions with such power he nearly threw his lover to the floor. Only Connor’s grasp on Gavin’s waist held him in place.

He settled, once Gavin found a rhythm. Stroking in tandem with each slide of his thumb across Connor’s tongue, setting a languid pace. He rocked his own hips in time, the friction of his inseam and Connor’s thigh just enough to keep him from going insane with need. 

Just when he was ready to start begging for something more, Connor caught Gavin’s hand, tugged it away from his mouth. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Gavin’s wrist, and then panted into his skin, “I want to—to touch you, too.”

“Fuck, _please_.” And then he couldn’t stop pleading, a litany of “Please, Connor, Jesus, please,” as the android made quick work of his belt buckle and fly. Connor’s hand was cool and perfect when it found his cock, thumb pressing to the slit, smearing the precome beaded there and slicking it along his length. 

It only took him about thirty seconds to come. Twitching in Connor’s expert grip, moaning the android's name into the curve of his shoulder. Spilling hot over Connor’s fingers, streaking his stomach. Some distant, coherent part of his brain thought maybe he should be embarrassed about finishing so quickly, but he couldn’t be fucking bothered. This was too good, Connor was too good, all of it was too good. All he cared about was making Connor feel the same. 

Soon enough Connor’s movements grew stuttered and urgent. He grabbed Gavin by shirt collar, yanking him down and crashing their mouths together. Connor kissed him hungrily, desperately, like it was the only thing tethering him to his plane of reality.

And maybe it was, as he stiffened and shuddered and came. Clinging to Gavin so fiercely that he tore the man’s shirt, the shoulder seam splitting like it was made of tissue paper.

Neither of them much cared.

Gavin held him through it, favoring him with long, slow strokes as he finished. When Connor finally stilled, breath ragged but even, Gavin let go—and chuckled softly, fondly, when Connor gasped and twitched at the shift in pressure. Settling back again, he felt more than a little smug at just how thoroughly demolished Connor looked. Like he was going to melt into the sofa, his eyes half lidded, head back.

“Better or worse than smoking?” Gavin asked. 

“I assume that’s rhetorical,” Connor replied, winded. He smoothed his hands up Gavin’s thighs, and expelled a long, deep sigh. 

“Actually I was king of hoping for a real answer,” Gavin said, leaning down to kiss the corner of Connor’s mouth. He rested his head on the android’s shoulder. Every bone in his body felt like it was made of pudding.

“Definitely better, then,” Connor said. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to Gavin’s temple, and murmured, “May need to gather a bit more data to be sure.”

“Oh, God,” Gavin whined. “Later. I don’t think I can stand.”

“No, not right now, shit. I don’t trust my gross motor functions at the moment, either.” His LED flickered yellow, and he huffed a little laugh. “You managed to disable a handful of major processes.”

“Woo,” Gavin murmured, with a weary wave of his hand. “Mission accomplished.”

In his jacket pocket two feet away, his phone rang. 

He ignored it.

Three minutes later, Connor’s LED spun red with an incoming call. He also ignored it, but took a moment to read the transcribed voicemail message. Worming one hand under Gavin’s shirt, Connor idly traced the line of his vertebra and said, “So that was the Captain.”

“Auuggh, fuck,” Gavin groaned. Lurching to the side, he collapsed back against the opposite arm of the couch, next to his jacket. “I fuckin’ forgot I need to run that fuckin’ deposition back to the fuckin’ station.”

“That was colorful,” Connor said. He patted Gavin’s calf where it was still draped across his lap. “I’ll take it over, if you want.”

“No, I gotta do it,” Gavin said, but didn’t move. “I want my half day tomorrow.”

The phone rang again next to Gavin’s head. He managed to fumble it out of the pocket in time to answer.

“ _It’s been an hour, the fuck is going on over there_ ?” Fowler demanded, before Gavin could even utter a hello. “ _Was he not home_?”

“Sorry, Cap,” Gavin said, impressed at his own ability to sound stable. “We got caught up talking about, uh...”

Post-coital jelly brain supplied no useful excuses. He looked over at Connor, searching for some kind of answer. The android, unhelpfully, made a jerk-off motion with his hand.

 _Handjobs??_ Gavin mouthed, horrified.

“No, dumbass—” Connor hissed, repeating the motion. “The stabbing!”

“...That stabbing on the SMART last weekend.”

“ _Will you please get your ass back here? the DA is crawling up my dick for this paperwork_.”

“I’m just heading out the door, be back in ten.” Gavin said, and hung up. Extremely reluctantly, feeling like he was about two hundred pounds heavier, Gavin rolled up to his feet. He tucked himself back into his pants, wincing a little as he tugged the waistband of his boxers across the oversensitive skin of his dick. 

“Sorry to, you know,” Gavin said, buckling his belt. “Hit and run.”

Still reclined in the corner of the sofa with his dick out, come splattered across his shirt and chest, Connor shrugged. “You could always come back.”

Gavin snorted. “For some more ‘data collection’?”

Connor leaned forward just enough to reach out and trace his finger along the vein in the back of Gavin’s hand. “Maybe,” he murmured, hooking his index finger through Gavin’s, brushing his thumb along the knuckle. “Or just because you want to. And I want you to.”

“Oh,” Gavin said. 

“Unless you don’t want,” Connor said hastily, starting to pull his hand away.

Gavin tightened his grip. “No, I do,” he said, squeezing Connor’s hand. “Want to.” He didn’t even particularly want to leave in the first place, if he was honest. 

“Good,” Connor said. 

“Okay,” Gavin said, matching the android’s shy little smile. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

He left his jacket. Just to be safe.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you all enjoyed it :) you can follow me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/sheepishwolfy) for dumb thoughts about androids & other shit. love you all!


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